“[W]e don’t want to take female empowerment to the place of
male degradation.”
- Kelly
Cutrone America’s Next Top Model Season 21 Episode 8
I am a
fan of pop music. It also isn’t a secret that most pop music sounds the same.
Have you ever listened to “Roar” by Katy Perry and “Brave” by Sara Bareilles
back to back? It is basically the same song with almost identical messages; regardless,
both are songs I know all of the words to. Recently, Taylor Swift’s “Blank
Space” was playing on the radio as my boyfriend and I were going home after a
Saturday evening brew. He cringed as I turned it up and proceeded to sing all
of the words for the remainder of the song. I clicked on one of the other four
preset pop stations and happened on the song again. Please note that this drive
is maybe eight minutes long and the song is just shy of four, so this is
torture for my very patient man. This motivated me to inquire into his dislike
of this pop gem. So I asked, Why? His response was what I expected. It is too
pop, too main stream, and pointless. This song like many other pop culture
tween phenomenon has its place in shaping young people. This is my rebuttal of its
importance.
It is not a
secret that “Blank Space” is a huge hit. It is number one on iTunes and the
Billboard top 100. It is also not too hard to figure out Miss Swift’s
motivation for writing the hit: media coverage of her high profile and somewhat
fleeting relationships (“Ain't it funny rumors fly / And I know you heard about
me.” 0:34). The potentially hazardous part of this is the message combined with
popularity and the impressionable demographic that it reaches.
“Cause
darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream”: Being Yourself Can Include Crazy
In the
accompanying video, Swift is portrayed as a character whose “insane” reactions
are spurred at the slightest of what would hardly be called indiscretions. The
whole depiction is that she is the ideal and perfect woman on the surface, but
underneath is a bubbling mess. She could ruin a life at the glance of a message
from her man’s female friend. This false identity and two-faced behavior is
alluring when portrayed by a beautiful woman who is acting, but a young woman
taking on the responsibility of someone else in her life, it is a bad example. Yes,
it is important to place importance on young women learning their place in the
world and feeling empowered, but that doesn’t give them the right to believe
that their personality “could make all the tables turn” (1:56). This implies
that Swift is the soul controlling force in her relationship and does not share
equal footing with the man whose identity changes as easily as a coffee order.
“But I got a
blank space baby / And I'll write your name”: Men are Disposable
These lyrics
are preceded by Swift, as the song’s protagonist, stating that she has a long
list of ex-lovers. This is commonly misheard as “lot of Starbucks lovers”. This
mondegreen works because when she speaks of the blank space where her new
lovers name is to be written, you hear the unmistakable click of a sharpie that
you can easily envision in the hand of a barista. The imagery here and the
attitude toward her current love interest are enforced by the hall of portraits
in Swift’s home in the video. She adds the recently completed portrait of her
current beau to the plethora of others that grace the walls, one of which has its
very own axe embedded in its canvas. It is apparent that the woman portrayed by
Swift is going through these men as fast as the milk in her latte is cooled.
“Boys only
want love if it's torture / Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you”: You Must
Torture to Be Loved
This is the
most striking part of the song, both in the change in melody and the imagery in
the video. Swift’s lyrics and behavior grows more violent with every verse,
culminating in the ultimate symbol of love and sexuality. As she claims that
torture is the way to a man’s love, she used a candy red apple as a voodoo doll
of her man’s head. His reaction is sexualized while still expressing painful
feelings. He then discovers the defaced portraits of the men that came before
and it is implied at this point that she poisons him with said apple. Now we
see all of her true colors and how her love interest didn’t try to leave until
it was too late. We then see the arrival of her new victim.
“Blank Space”
may be a pop hit, but its message must also be taken with a grain of salt. We
must take into consideration the theatricality of the video. Given the
demographic of Top 40 radio “Top 40 does reach listeners younger than 18… ‘The
radio is where they first hear the songs they’re putting on their iPods’” (Lariviere).
It’s concerning what impression this melodic and catchy tune may have on the
young people who already struggle with learning how to navigate and cultivate
healthy relationships.
Michael and I are currently on our way to Portland, OR with
brief stops in Coos Bay and Eugene. Driving through the fog and the redwoods on
the 101 Highway is a relief at this point on our journey. I was over ambitious
about how much we would accomplish on this road trip and I am very happy to be
on the final stretch to our Seattle destination. We left Durango, CO on September 9th.
It will be 4 weeks since that risky moment tomorrow. The lack of wifi and
electricity at our many camping destinations hindered out ability to charge the
phones regularly, check emails, post photos, write blogs of the events of the
day and youtube all our silly adventures. I believe that this was, all in all,
an excellent side effect of being in a car or campsite all day. Yes, we had our
stops in friend’s and family’s homes on the journey, but until we got to
Danville outside of San Francisco, we spent those days on the run, being
tourists, or in my case – recovering from a cold that won’t let go.
Our journey began in Montrose CO celebrating my dad’s
birthday. He is “recently retired” and I believe is finally coming to terms
with what life means not working away the prime part of the day. This has been
on the brink for a while and it was a reassuring thing for me to experience. I
will be farther from home than I have ever been and am grateful to know that
mom and dad will be okay.
The next stop was Fruita CO to see one of my best friends
from childhood and her family. Krista is happy. She is with a man who loves her
– more importantly likes her – and is branching out in her own life and career,
message me if you need pampered chef stuff and I will get you in touch with
her. I know I will be as soon as I have a kitchen and income again. Her
parents, on the other hand, are currently on vacation in Panama, potentially a
life changing trip for them as well…time will tell!
These were stops that Michael and I made to nourish my need
to get back to my roots with the people I love before being states away. I
thank him for that.
Of course, because we managed to stretch out this journey as
long as we could, we stopped in Denver. Here we did the things we love. Check
us out on the Reel Nerds podcast here,
ate at Denver Biscuit Co. and drank beer in LoDo – this became the beginning of
the beer tour side of our trip hashbrownGreatDivide
hashbrownRaggedMountain (we went to 3
Rascals in Montrose too). Thank you to our friends Stephanie and Jeramiah for
making us dinner, impressing us with their home bar and letting us crash there.
These were the parts of the trip we anticipated and planned.
We had a good idea of what we would do, where we would end up and that I would
be an emotional mess when we leave them. After these steps…all bets were off.
On the morning of Sunday September 13th we began
our drive to Yellowstone and Teton. This was a LONG day! Michael drove and we
listened to an innumerable amount of Freakanomics radio, so good if you like to
think while you drive. There were a lot of comments from Michael, who had never
been in Wyoming for a substantial amount of time before, about how flat it was.
It’s true! From Denver to Wyoming there really are only cows to see and
antelope. That was cool – we don’t have antelope at home. We stopped in
Pinedale WY to camp. This was by far the coolest campsite we found until we got
to Limekiln. We were about 20 ft from Half Moon Lake, so we blew up the duck
and sat by the river to drink our wine and eat the roasted garlic and pepper cream
sauce penne. This was by far still the most successful dish I made with the
cook stove (the second batch in Yellowstone was better though). This is also
the first morning we used the French press. That little coffee maker saved our
asses. I was cranky just about every morning of camping, and there were a lot
of mornings of camping, having to not hunt down coffee was infinitely helpful.
Pinedale was beautiful and was a great stop on the way to Jackson.
By the time we got to Jackson we didn’t have a plan. We did
the tourist thing in Jackson for a while. The required stop, per Dave, was to
have a beer at the cowboy bar. Now, for those of us on this journey who had
been living in Durango for a substantial amount of time, we were shocked that
the beer came in bottles…WHAT!? This is a famous bar, unbeknownst to my
traveling partner. So we sat on our saddles and drank our beer out of a bottle
and a can. Tourist note: There is a
spirits, oil and spice store over by the fancy gemstone and fossil store. In
this store they have just about any fancy liquor (including tequila, whiskey
and bourbon), oil and spices you could imagine that you can sample for free –
we did not test how far we could take that on the liquor, but I was super close
to spending way too much money on something that I would drink way too quickly.
Eventually we had to leave since we still had to find a place to put up the
camp house. There wasn’t really a lot of camping we knew of outside the park. I
figured all of that out after we accidentally bought our park pass. My mom had
told us to drive up the back road from Jackson to Moose WY by the ski resort. I
was entertaining Michael, the driver, by reading to him from the Jackson WY
Sotheby’s RE Guide. Oh yeah we were totally shopping for and $18,000,000 ranch.
Um. No. That is the luxury estate for some other dreamer. Eventually we
happened upon an entrance to the southern end of Grand Teton National Park, so
we bought the pass, but the road was closed…merrrr. We made it into the park
found a campsite, bought some wood and passed out. The next day we got up early and got a spot
at Jenny Lake. A tent only campsite, WOO HOO no noisy generators! This turned
into hiking day. If you ever get the chance to hike up to Inspiration Point in
Teton, you can do it if you feel so inclined, but the waterfalls that are right
over there are super cool!
The rest of the time on our seven day pass was spent in
Yellowstone. We made just about all of the geyser stops that we could – not all
geysers look the same…kinda. Please note that Yellowstone is a “dormant” HUGE
volcano. There are notes all around the park saying that the ground in not safe
and sometimes new hot springs and geysers appear OVERNIGHT. How is this not
terrifying? At West Thumb one of the hot springs ate the boardwalk, ATE THE
BOARDWALK. This will forever be an anecdote.
By far the best part of our trip to Yellowstone was camping
at Tower Falls. We were lucky that by the time we got up to this campground at
about 1pm, they still had a site available for us. We found out later that they are usually full
by 10am. Sharon took us to the last site she had open and got us all taken care
of. I don’t recall in what order we explored the park after that and how many
bison we saw each day, but Ralph, Sharon’s husband could probably tell you. He
got the play-by-play every morning or afternoon that we found ourselves back at
the campsite. These people lovingly refer to themselves as Grandma and Grandpa.
Sharon told us later that Ralph had adopted us as his kids/grandkids. He would
get up every morning and look up to our campsite to see if we were up making
coffee yet. If we weren’t he would wait. As soon as one of us was out of the
tent, he was there. He told us pretty much the same stories all three mornings
we were there and we were happy to listen to them. These were some of the
coolest and most caring random people we have ever met.
Ralph told us a story from when they owned/managed a motel:
They had gotten a reservation for a large family group, a family or reunion or
something. Most of the family had checked in and gotten their keys. Grandma
came down to the front desk, prior to them closing for the night, to get the
key for her granddaughters room since they just found out that her and her
boyfriend were running behind schedule and won’t get there in time for
check-in. This was not that unusual and Ralph didn’t think anything of it.
Grandma came back down grinning with a little spark in her step to return the
key saying that her granddaughter will in fact be on time and can come get her
key. She continued on her way back up to her own room. A little later on the
granddaughter shows up at the hotel and all goes as planned and she gets her
key. Within 5 minutes she was calling back down to the front desk claiming that
half of the lights in her room were out.
So Ralph, being the diligent owner that he was went up to the room to
investigate and get replacement bulbs as needed. When he arrives in the room he
checks the light bulbs, all of the ones that were not working had been slightly
unscrewed. The granddaughter then
remarks, “Oh Grandma she’s done it again.” he later discovered that apparently
this is normal behavior for her and she had put cracker crumbs in the bed.
I want to be that old woman.
Needless to say it was, once again, difficult for me to
leave these lovely people who made sure we had a wonderful stay in Yellowstone
and that we will have people to visit in Montana if we ever go to Glacier
National Park!
I have family in Idaho Falls ID. These are people that I
don’t see very often, but it was by far a perfectly timed visit. My uncle Paul
and aunt Shirley welcomed us into their home and were happy to spoil us. I use this to thank them for their love and
time.
The drive to St. George UT, where we stayed briefly in a
shitty hotel, was a brief necessity. I had the worst couple days of the cold
bookmarking this sleep. But this didn’t stop us from having lunch and gelato in
Las Vegas on Wednesday Sept. 24th! We had about two hours of a
tourist stop where we didn’t gamble and didn’t get lost. I do love Las Vegas in
short doses, but on the way out of town we saw a billboard that epitomizes the
side of the city that gives all of us – I hope – the heebeegeebees. I don’t
recall what the image was, but all it said was “If at first you don’t succeed,
buy her another drink.” I believe that this was an ad for a liquor store, not a
bar, but I could be wrong. Regardless, WHAT!!!??? This is an atrocious advertisement.
Side note: We also saw a billboard in
Salt Lake where we stopped for lunch with a good friend of mine that I met from
working at digs…yeah I’m that kind of waitress. It had the silhouette of an
elephant with tusks. It had a saying similar to “Its time for you to have some
ivory of your own”. I’m paraphrasing, but once again, WHAT!!!??? This ad was
for Ivory Homes, probably a construction company or something. But really, who
at that agency thought this would be a positive association for their company?
Yes, let’s “promote” the poaching of elephants to get more home building
business, YEAH! That’s a great idea. Um. No. I have a hard time with offensive
advertising.
San Diego was next on the docket. These were days of beer and family. Yes, we
had a memorial service for our host Teri’s brother-in-law. From what I can
tell, a very wonderful loved man. But this, and the phone call efforts of the amazing
Amy, we got all the family all of the time. Lynchs and Ledfords for the win!
These were great days with great people.
We also spent a substantial amount of time
drinking…beer…again! Alesmith, Ballast Point and Green Flash were
recommendations of friends and family, I would recommend all of them! We ended
up at Green Flash again to do the beer tour, an excellent choice for sure! Now,
one of my favorite things about going to taprooms is food trucks! Outside of
Green Flash, the second night we were there was what they called the Sushi Bus.
It was not a bus, it was a van. It was a normal looking, perhaps on the verge
of a hippie van with a tent that they make the sushi fresh to order in. There
is a guy who walks around with a bundle of cash to make change for people, it
seemed kinda sketch. THAT IS SOME OF THE BEST SUSHI I HAVE EVER HAD! I chose a
salmon ginger roll and if you are ever in San Diego and can find these sushi
folks…go there! The food has definitely been a highlight of this long journey.
Now, the next meaningful stop of our trip is one of Michael
and I’s favorite camping stops…EVER! Limekiln State Park. We stayed there for
three nights on one of the beach side campsites. From our spot we could walk 30
feet and watch the waves while you enjoy your drink of choice. On the other
side, a short hour long hike will get you through the redwoods to a beautiful
waterfall on a lush green trail. If that doesn’t sell you, we saw both whales
(at least the water and air coming out of their blowholes with the binoculars)
and dolphins during our stay! Thank you Limekiln for your existence. The
campground host also gave us a tomato for our dinner when we asked her where
the closest place to get tomatoes was.
We drove up and down the coast visiting our friends the
elephant seal (selelephant, as we so lovingly call them). We also went up to
Monterey one day to go through the MirrorMaze and visit Cannery Row Brewing.
They have burger sliders with French brie, fried onion strings and garlic
aioli, so good! This is a great stop.
While on the 1 we also decided that we must find a way to
stay at Treebones Resort, look it up! There are a remarkable number of Ford
Mustang convertibles on this road. Most of the people that live on the coast
must be hermits.
From Idaho through Limekiln we filled our days with The
Leviathan Chronicles (downloaded them from iTunes). If you have a long time to drive and feel like an odd
science fiction story, look it up. Not all of the episodes are released, but
the 39 they have at ~45 min each, will get you pretty far.
San Francisco was break and crunch time. We spent our first
day there sitting on the couch, watching the BBC, searching for houses and jobs
in Seattle. Second day was let’s go battle city traffic and see if we can find
the Sutro Baths – I’m a literature kid. We then proceeded to make a list of all
the other things we must see when we go back to San Francisco. On the morning
that we left we made it down to the market and I made Michael walk with me to
find the City Light Bookseller and Publishers – thanks BuzzFeed. This was a
journey on foot through what I’m assuming is only one of the sketchy stripper
districts, yea culture!
So for the last few days we have been abbreviated tourists
stopping at more breweries, Speakeasy and Magnolia in San Francisco and Sierra
Nevada in Chico. Now we are ready to find our own places to go. I’m done with
driving/riding and happy to go through the stress of trying to find an
apartment.
I hope this fulfills all of the blogs I was supposed to make
on this trip. Michael and I have been kind of boring in the car…but are
planning my next novel for National Novel Writing month and are far from
killing each other.
Gloom Project #1
Character: Lord Slogar
Found a Fine Fossil
Was torn limb from limb
"Helena, please tell our guests the story." I wanted my guests to know my tale but fore the end of it.
"Of course, my Lord." Helena was always willing to tell it. I wouldn't have her without it.
"Lord Slogar wasn't always in such a delicate state. He was a man once. When we met he told me how much he loved to explore. He once adventured in to the sewers of New York city to find the giant lizard men rumor to inhabit their deepest caverns. Apparently during that excursion he found the skull of one of the creatures, but never a living one. No proof that they walked on two legs, but legitimate proof of their existence. That was one of the many adventures he told me about when we first met.
Helena always started it this way, just swapping out which of my previous excursions she fancied that day. She continued as our guests sat in silence. "In the summer of 1904 he was working with Mr. Osborn at a dig site in the southwest. He had been there on and off for a few years as the paleontologists were investigating fossils they had been finding."
"Helena, please clarify that they did not find anything of significance before my arrival in June." She couldn't forget that. It is the most importance part, besides her of course.
"It is critical to note that the paleontologists hadn't found anything of any significance before Lord Slogar's arrival,mostly bone fragments and unidentifiable pieces. For a few weeks they all walked among the desert hills only finding small pieces of animals long passed from this world. Sir showed up mid-June in then heart of the summer , some believed it to be the hottest day of the year. He walked work the men collecting dirt and sand in his traveling boots. They ate steak and potatoes for dinner every night, continuing to walk through the dust and sage brush when day. Lord Slogar was used to days of mundane being the salt to his pepper adventures, but this was becoming desolate and tasteless salt. He needed something more.
Lord Slogar chahed into the tent of my father, Dr. Osborn. The moment I saw him I knew that I would never forget that face. I had come along on my break from private school. This was risky due to my father's opinion of the sort of men who work for him. But they were fine when I wasn't visiting. Otherwise, I was kept secluded from the corruptive men of his accompaniment. He was out visiting a man who had been injured on site when Lord Slogar arrived at our tent. We had a startling first interaction.
"Why are you hiding?" I had run behind the curtain where I kept my cot. He was a stranger after all.
"Because no one is supposed to know I'm here."
"Why?" He took a curious step forward, toward my hiding place.
"According to my father you are a filthy bunch of men." He was attractive to say the least. He took another step forward.
"That may be true for the rest of them, but I am not one of those men." Another step.
"Regardless, I think you should be going before he returns." Two more steps.
"But I have an urgent matter for him and, quite honestly, I would rather stay here and talk to you while I wait for him." He paused. "I'm Slogar, Lord Slogar." He bowed as he introduced himself.
"I'm Helena."
"I know. Your father has yet to stop talking about how proud he is of you."
"He is known to rant and rave since my mother passed. He doesn't have a lot to focus on besides me and his work. I think he was worried I was going to get into trouble when she was gone." It's true, it was hard for me when my mother died, but I made it through just like he told me I would.
"Do you mind if I ask, how did she die?"
"I do mind." I mind because most people think that my father killed her, but Slogar seemed to be asking with general interest, not gossiping harm. "She died at a dig site. My father had been trying to move a large fossil and his rigging system was unstable. She was guiding the fossil from the other side to ensure that it was replaced for optimal inspection -- she liked to look at all the small details. Too many crew men had destroyed the surfaces. So she liked to do this part herself -- the rigging malfunctioned and the fossil crushed her to death. There was nothing to be done, no way to move it in time. My father now oversees all of the riggings and placements when we pull large specimens."
"That is tragic. I am sorry for your loss." He was genuine in his remorse and stepped closer.
"Thank you, but you really should be going."
"I suppose you are right. I may have overstayed my welcome." He turned to leave, "please tell your father I stopped by and intend to speak to him tomorrow. Have a good evening." He left. He never told me what he spoke to my father about, but I did not see him again until after the accident.
Lord Slogar had been carefully tracing the land. He had noticed small variations in the placement of the small fossils that my father hadn't. He followed his instinct to the largest fossil find in recent history.
"Ma'am, I hate to interrupt, but are you telling us that he discovered the first tyrannosaurus?"
"Aaaaaaahhhhh! Why do they always assume that the tyrannosaurus is the most important fossil discovered? Do they know nothing of fossils and the history of man?" I had to interrupt Helena as well when my guests prove to be ignorant of my work.
"No, Lord Slogar discovered the first humanlike, but now would be considered an ancient alien like creature."
"What? That's not real." Lord Slogar was right. These 'reporters' were ignorant of his accomplishments.
"It was very real, but as they were pulling the fossil out of the ground the rigging failed. It landed on Lord Slogar. He almost had the same fate as my mother.
"When the rigging was repaired, it looked as though he had been into five pieces. My father noticed that he was still blinking. They rushed his head to the infirmary and called the doctor. I sat with him every day until his cousin came to see him. They didn't risk moving him, but his cousin was confident that he could keep his brain alive. They went through the remarkable procedure of removing it from his skull and placing it in the box you see on the mantel. I keep him there because he likes the warmth from the fire. We married once we realized that he and I could still communicate just as we did when he had his body.
"But now we get down to why you are here. I suspect you are not the reporters that you claim to be. You aren't like our usual visitors.
"Ma'am unfortunately for you, you are correct. We are here to finish what that boulder, or fossil you seem to think he found, didn't." They got up from their seats and pointed two pistols. One at me and one at the love of my life's brain in a box. They fired.
For my dad's birthday on Wednesday we decided to adventure up to Kate's Meadow outside of Ridgway. This is an adventuring location my parents have talked about for quite sometime. I had never been, so this became the birthday excursion. The drive up on the dirt road was scenic and reminiscent for mom and dad. They talked about the movies True Grit and How the West Was Won. My mom got a kick out of thinking that John Wayne, Robert DuVall, and Debbie Reynolds had all traveled up the same road.
Up at the top of the trail we frolicked through the meadow and Michael convinced me to climb up the rock from the final showdown scene. He chose this opportunity to be a supermodel!
After our lunching and light wood hauling we were driving down the mountain and around one of the last sharp turns was a tow truck parked on the edge of the dirt road. This was unnerving given that the tow cables were stretched across the road down a ~50 ft embankment. Please note: this is not where trucks are supposed to go.
After this little discovery, we decided that this may or may not be the worst part of this guy's day. Today, this guy's dog died, he ran over his cat, his wife told him she wants a divorce, his girlfriend left him, the liquor store is out of whiskey -- and burned down, then on his drive up the mountain he discovered that he was out of cigarettes! All the makings of a classic country song!
Even before departure, in theory this is the worst part, Michael and I can't figure out how to properly pack the car. It's coming down to whether we take the things that we really should have in case of emergency OR blankets and pillows for sleeping in a tent in Wyoming in September OR large quantities of pre-made granola OR clothes. Of course we both understand that technically we should take all of these things. I've already sacrificed my plants, they will be living in Montrose for a little while. The Alaskan Pumpkin Porter and some Tim Burton on IFC are making it easier -- except for the mid-day, during the week, generic commercials. But panic mode has set in and Michael made another trip into town. I'm ready to get on the road and only worry about rearranging the trunk/bar/kitchen tomorrow
. We leave in about an hour and a half to go over a weather ridden Red Mountain pass, but oh well today is the day and we will make it happen!
The journey was long,
but he knew that it needed to happen. His mother kept saying, “You have to take
her. She has to go and you are by far the most capable, also the strongest.”
She kept telling him that he would need physical and emotional strength. Michael
knew that what she said was true, but was skeptical that his mother’s claim – that
he was the only one was capable.
It couldn't have been anyone else. Grandma knew it too, but
she wasn't in any condition to argue with anyone. See Michael’s beloved grandmother had passed
from her earthly existence a while back and now she had to be delivered from
this existence to the next.
“You get to take her. I left everything you should need on
the bed side table. The map will get here tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep.” Michael’s
mom had decided he was the one to go yesterday. He wasn't sure it was a “get to
go” situation, but he wasn't sure what he was getting himself into. So the
hesitation was understandable. This was a unique opportunity that holds more
weight with those who never have the chance to go.
He went to his room and crawled in bed, hopeful to get more
sleep than he had the night before.
The directions arrived in his mailbox first thing on the day
of his adventure. Michael read these through once and put them aside until
after he ate breakfast. The LIFE cereal helped nourish his childhood side
before this overwhelming journey. He grabbed the directions and the small
container of grandma’s ashes he had to take with him and stashed them in his
pocket. He walked out the front door of his childhood home.
He was heavy with the task in front of him and unsure of
what to expect. Normally he was pretty confident in the decisions he makes when
on adventures. The only thing he feared was the large hungry critters, but according
to the directions he wouldn't find too many on this trek.
His directions were oddly detailed. It went like this:
Exit childhood home via the front door.
Walk until you reach the main highway via the residential dirt roads.
Continue to walk east-ish along the highway past the storage units.
Take a right on the next dirt road.
Do not look back.
Walk until you pass the large desert shrub with the worn green tag
hanging from the top branch.
Take a right off the road that is no longer a road and not much more than
a foot path.
Do not look back; you will not see what you are looking for.
Walk into the desert.
You will reach a large-ish rock with a circle engraved on its surface.
If you make this stretch of the journey before noon, your local time, the
rock will shimmer making it easier to find from a distance.
Step over the rock.
Follow the path.
Do not look back.
You won’t have to go too far, epically speaking.
That was it. That was all the directions had to guide him.
He followed all of the directions outlined keeping an eye on
the time as he found the shrub. It was still before noon. He turned right and
kept walking. As soon as he leveled his focus he could see a glint of light
what it seemed like a mile away. It was flat. He could see pretty far. He did
not look back. He kept walking.
Michael considered the difference between
attractive and unattractive sports reporters, the dynamics used to calibrate
the internet, and the perks of having a pet monkey (one of which is punching
chavs in the balls) and the meaning behind a glimmering rock in the middle of
the desert.
He kept walking and thinking. Walking and thinking. This was
way more than a mile. Eventually the rock was getting closer. He picked up the
pace and ran the last 200 or so yards to the rock with the circle engraved on
the top. It was polished marble with the tiniest of yellow crystals embedded on
the surface. He was tall enough to step over the rock, as instructed.
The desert landscape was gone.
There was a path under his feet. It lead him along the edge
on a volcano on what seemed to be a deserted Hawaiian island. It was humid,
hot, and nothing beyond the small island his feet resided on, but ocean for
miles. He walked with the path as it curved around the volcano and down a small
steep hill. He found his place in line.
Most of the people waiting were dressed in jeans and a black
t-shirt. Every few people there were someone in obviously traditional religious
garb, some of it excessively ornate for this climate. Michael was happy with
his choice of yellow button down and dark plaid red shorts.
“What are you doing here?” He asked curiously as recognition
of the presence he hadn't been able to shake, since he stepped over the rock,
clicked.
She said nothing. He turned around to face her. Michael
relaxed his shoulders as his grandmother reached for his hand. It was his job
to take her. He understood why now. She had no words and they needed none. He
was afraid, but she was comforted by the line they were in. They walked hand in
hand as the line got shorter and shorter.
A giant tree stood on the bank
of the river. Michael would consider giant an understatement as he slowly moved
his glance upward in an attempt to see the color of its leaves, but they were
well beyond the sunset rose clouds. As he walked closer he could see ragged
boots sticking out from behind one of the roots. He approached who he assumed
was the boatman.
"Excuse me." He
knocked on the tree trunk. It made an intrusive gong sound and almost knocked
Michael out of his own ragged boots.
"Really?" A grave and
resonant voice came from the being inhabiting the boots. "You weren't
expecting that were you? It’s a good way to remind people of where they
are."
"Excuse me?" Michael
was curious of how someone could not remember that they are standing on the
bank of the river Styx.
"You think that everyone
who comes to see me is the only one who could accompany their dead?" There
was a pause. "Let’s just say that your grandmother is very lucky to have
you escort her here. There are others who would have done it, if you hadn't and
they aren't as unassuming."
"Sir, I’m not…what are you
talking about?” Michael wasn't sure he wanted to ask for clarification, but it
was too late now.
“Not all of the folks who die
in your world have loved ones to bring them to me. I have a log of those who
die so I know who to expect. We have to keep diligent records. For those who
don’t have someone dear to them to bring them to me, I send a taxi, if you
will. We had to set up a back-up plan since when we miss someone things get
unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?” He had to ask.
“Let’s just say more people end
up dead than were in the first place. Anyway, she,” he pointed at the graceful
old woman behind Michael, “is lucky she has you to watch over her.”
“Yeah, I wasn't sure what I was
getting into bringing her. It’s cool that there is a whole process, but where
do they go?”
“Wow, you are just full of
questions.” He inhaled patiently like he had this part well-rehearsed centuries
ago and the answer has gotten old. “Everyone goes to the same place. There is
no heaven or hell. Folks have a way of finding their kind even on our side.
Heaven is just used to reassure those who believe in righteousness. They
believe in it so much that they don’t even ask me that question anymore, but
they also aren’t the ones who bring their dead.”
Michael considered that last
statement and assumed it was because they didn't believe in this afterlife, so
why would they even concern themselves with the journey. “That sounds like a
good process; it’s neat to know that nothing changes too much.”
“It is nice to know that a kid
approves of our policies and procedures that have worked for centuries.”
Talking to himself. “Thank you. Now we must get on with it. That is a
line." He pointed behind Michael and there was definitely a longer line
than when he was at the front of it.
"Oh right." Michael
moved his grandmother to lie on the crude wooden raft tethered to the bank. He
finally noticed how inky black the water was on this bank, while the other side
of the river looked remarkably clear.
"Now place the coins on
her eyes." Charon gracefully gestured to where her head now lay.
"About that, what does it
cost?" He pulled two of each from his pocket, everything from pennies to
Sacajawea dollars. He had even scrounged up two Kennedy half dollars.
He looked toward the clear
water bank, "oh my, you weren't kidding. Okay, this is a penny ride.” Charon
gestured toward a wooden raft . “Nickels
come with a feather pillow." He snapped his fingers with a false
enthusiastic face and a fluffy pillow appeared under her head. "Dimes will
get you an inflatable kayak, instead of this reliable raft, reminiscent of my
good friend Mark Twain's iconic work. He talked us though how to build it more
sturdy, but the kayak will help prevent her from sliding overboard if the
waters get rough. Of the two, I would vote for the raft. We still believe in
solid craftsmanship and we don't build the kayaks "A snap and the kayak appeared.
“Now, if you want to spend quarters we can make it a Viking longboat. I know
the mythology is wrong, but it is a customer favorite, if they sacrifice
parking meter money." When he saw it, the longboat became a strong
contender and totally worth 50¢. "It isn't very often that JFK graces my
humble banks, so those who chose him get a black sail pirate ship with a busty
figurehead." That was an intriguing option as well. "Now, for the
dollar, the vote was to go with the theme. I think it’s a bit racist, but the
Sacajawea dollar gets you a 'genuine' Native American canoe. Between you and
me, those who bring me American coins get the most generic and offensive
options. So what is your choice?" The boatman put his hands on his hips
and waited.
"Pirate ship, for sure. She would've been a pirate. Will
she know?" Michael had a feeling that this decision was for his comfort,
not hers.
"Yes, she will know, but I've heard that it doesn't
matter that much to most people. Those it matters too are more likely to be too
much of a pain that their families didn't bring them anyway. Go ahead and place
the coins on her eyes. We gotta keep this train a moving." Charon nods to
how many people have been standing in line.
Michael leaned in and placed the half dollars on her eyes. He
kissed her forehead and stepped away.
The boatman snapped his fingers and the ship appeared. Michael
could see his grandmother finally at rest.
"Can I ask one last
question?"
"A quick one." Charon liked him and appreciated
his love for his grandmother.
"Do you know who will bring me?"
"I don't have that foresight, but you will instill your
love in all of your family and the person who is meant to bring you will. I
have no doubt of that."
“Thank you.” Michael turned around to face the ever growing line and started his walk home.
So, I've taken on the daunting task of trying to put all of this together. For a bit of back story to the upcoming novel check out the following posts!
42. Uncompromising
31. Papaw
22. Kayak
37. Superstitious
21. Klick
There are more short stories to come too! Next up...27. Nettle
The second rule of being a scout is that you must have a keen understanding of direction and distance. We teach where you go and how to get back. We will teach you the trails and paths, but you are the ones who have to make it back. There is and intuition to it. We have lost more than a few tenderfoots because they lost their way. You have always that with being a part of this community you must be caring a watchful. We, the scouts, are the tested ones. If you are not confident in your own abilities to get back home, don't go. It is easier to have a scout step down than to never see them come home again. When you are lost there, you never return. The only ones who ever had were The Originals. They did not have targets on their backs.
You, you will have a target on your back. The hunters know what you look like, you have to know where they will be next. You have to understand the field before you even trespass into it. We will teach you the layout, but you must be able to lay it in front of you at a moment's notice. We call them hunters. They will hunt you. We will train you for spatial awareness. We will train you on where to hide and where the food is. We will train you on where the hunters hide. But they, like you, are trained to understand "the other". They only know you as the people that steal their food. You mean nothing else to them. They have an uncanny way of know where you are at all times. It is difficult to outsmart them. Their communication with each other is almost cerebral. Since this is our community's only source of food, you must also be that connected with your partner.
We will teach you, but you are not The Originals, you are the tenderfoots. We will teach you the way, but you must learn it.
a: a belief or practice resulting from ignorance, fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation
b: an irrational abject attitude of mind toward thesupernatural, nature, or God resulting from superstition
Story
They find me in the streets at night. No one really pays attention most of the time. When they take notice of me, I hear a wretched "you don't belong here" or "you haven't left yet? There isn't anything here for you", they know better than anyone that I have nowhere to go. A young girl came across me the other day and wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. She was too young to understand my presence here. The girl hadn't learned her role yet in this world, let alone mine. She tried to approach me. She wanted to learn for herself; I could see it in her eyes. But she could feel my place, the fibers of her skin, built from the people who understand, pulled her away. She will grow up to be a wife, mother, and then a widow. I wish they would be smarter than the adults, smarter than the ones who keep me from having a warm home at night.
Yes, the adults criticize and question my presence in their town, but they understand that my role is to show the value of what they are given. They get food from the door and they have the technology and the knowledge to build homes from the resources around them. But they leave me on the street to rot; or at least to dig through their trash to fend for myself. They don't even invite me into the Great Hall for community dinner, but alas there isn't much I can do. I'll let you in on a few secrets. This is a beautiful place to live. The community here has built a remarkable utopia of love and trust among its people. There are rules that are understood and go unquestioned. The children are not taught the rules until they learn about themselves and their role. They are taught by the adults who follow the rules blindly. When they get older they are taught to treat me poorly. Taught that the lives they lead in happiness and peace are only possible due to my suffering.
One thing they are never taught, that only the scouts know, is that they can live because of beings like me. What they acquire on the other side of the door is not what they bring home. Their lives are sustained on creatures that they butcher and kill between the doors. They keep the people protected from these truths. They can't even look in the eyes of a gaunt black cat as they pass it on the street.
A canoe of a type used originally by the Inuit, made of a light frame with a watertight covering having a small opening in the top to sit in
Story
"I started telling Vallie about what lives behind the door. I haven't told her the secrets. She doesn't know about the hunters or where the food comes from, but I told her about the...terrain, I guess. She knows about the water that has to be traversed, the plains and the woods. She understands that it is dangerous, but I guess she would've know that because of the conditions Graves and Forrest when they return from missions. I was tracking her the other day for Nell. He wanted to know where she was going without giving away our what we know about the fringes. We were at the lake and she kept trying to ignore me, like she didn't know I was there, but the way she walked...she knew. I couldn't be ignored anymore. There is something about her that intrigues me. She asks more questions than she should. She explores more than her father feels comfortable with. She has an adventuring spirit that I... appreciate? Maybe, sometimes it worries me. So, we were at the lake. She found the fruit trees there. We aren't supposed to tell the teenagers who haven't reached the age of exordium about what lies beyond the community. But she found it. Vallie explores. She wants to know what exists in this world. She has heard the stories of what came before us and what we have developed since our supposed isolation. And now I've started to tell her of our future or at least what I think it should be. I'm not sure if anyone realizes the potential of what lies beyond the door. If we could eliminate the hunters we could take what we need and wouldn't have to worry about our lives being taken. I'm probably not supposed to tell you that either. Have you ever been a scout?"
"No. I haven't."
"I didn't think so. You don't seem like the type to volunteer for that job. Staring Sullivan in the eyes would make anybody a little nervous. There is a 2 part malice, 1 part foolish to his eyes, his soul. I've only seen it a few times, but he was trying to explode the tail end of my kayak. I made it back to the door both times...barely. I tried to tell Willow about it before bed last night, but she doesn't understand how these mission's stick. It is hard to shake the reality of it all. Their world is so different than ours."
"That is what I've heard."
"Speaking of, did you hear that Nell is considering Vallie and Pettal for recruitment, or "suggestive volunteering" as he likes to call it, for next year's training. Aren't they too young for that? I mean I know that he likes to get them started at 15, but those girls are strong and adventurous...physically. Not mentally. He wants his daughter to succeed like his sons, even her mom was training to be a scout at one point. That got stopped real quick didn't it...ha. That is what he gets for having relations with one of the trainees. One thing I'll enjoy taking Vallie out for her first mission, she has a tenacity that I have yet to see in a female volunteer."
"I think she will do quite well. Vallie, and Pettal too, both have intuitions about where to go and what the community needs. Even if Pettal can't focus on much outside potential husbands."
"Yeah, that will be interesting. Whoever these hunters are, they know how to prevent the female scouts from coming back after 2 or 3 missions. What time is it?"
"Noon and 15°."
"Shit, I have a mission with Forrest at Noon and 30°. Gotta go, thanks man."
To be of therichandfashionablesocialsetthemembersofwhichtravelwidelyforpleasure
Story
Jack was late for this flight again. This would be a moment of frustration and turmoil for most. For jack this was not unusual, at this point in his years of traveling it almost felt familiar. So Jack went up to the counter and spoke to the attendant to get on the next flight. It was less than an hour later than his previous departure. He flew from metropolis to metropolis and international concourse to world capitals and villages. For weeks on end, Jack traveled alone and in peace.
This instance was no different than the last. He had been to Hawaii before and he enjoyed spending his time in LAX people watching. It was amusing people watching to say the least. He sat and wondered about everyone's reason for flying that day. Those wearing oversized sunglasses inside going to movie sets, or at least wanting people to think they were. Those in suits had transcontinental meetings. The rest looked like him wearing light travel clothes traveling for leisure and perhaps with no destination in mind. Some people appeared frantic while others knew how travel worked and took hold of the reigns of LAX and held on tight. It was going to be a bumpy ride.
As Jack sat and waited for them to call this section to board he noticed a young man running down the terminal in quite a hurry. He watched as he was forced to stop by running into gate B17, Jack's gate. He then realized that the young man was dressed as a pilot and didn't look well. He looked flushed and sickly. He was barely 25 years old and greeted by a hesitant, "Hello, how ya feeling?" by the airline staff.
Jack put little thought toward this once he was seated. He knew that pilots flew when they were sick, that's why there are co-pilots, right? He stowed his things and waited. The flight attendants explained the proper safety procedures and precautions. Jack had heard this thousands of times. Then the pilot came over the intercom, probably not the best decision in his condition. He sounded under the weather, but not alarmingly so, just slight coughing as he closed his greeting. And they took off for their journey.
Not long into the flight he looked out the window and saw the vibrant blue of the Pacific Ocean. It was his favorite ocean to travel in or over. He knew all of the creatures that lived in it, he envisioned them going about their lives in the blue in peace. This is how he found serenity on long boring flights. At that moment, as he found his safe space, Jack heard an odd growling erupting from the cockpit. Then screams.
A flight attendant then burst from the front of the cabin bleeding from the neck. Her screaming stopped as she collapsed on the floor. No one moved. No one spoke a word for what seemed a ridiculous amount of time. Then they came for us. All of the passengers soon became a bottle of food for whatever it was that erupted from the cockpit. Jack had never seen anything like it. For the first and only time in his life he saw men and women sacrifice their consciousness for flesh.
All of this transpired faster than Jack could process; the plane started to nose dive. As it plummeted to its fate all of the occupants were thrown to the front of the plane turning a peaceful flight from LA to Hawaii into a soon to be sinking tube of flesh eating monsters and their soon to be decaying food source.
Jack and the other passengers never arrived at the tropical destination. No one ever dared to recover the remainder of the flight. There was no telling what they would've found.
1. A deciduous tree (Asimina triloba) of the eastern and southeast United States, having flowers with three sepals, three petals, and numerous stamens and fleshy, edible fruit.
I walked through the trees as Ryan followed close behind. He thought he was being stealthy, but I knew he was there. He had only been trailing me for the last mile or so. My mother must have sent him. She always worries when I leave home without Graves. She probably told Dad and since he is always curious about where I go, he sent Ryan instead of Graves. Ryan is stealthy and will report my adventures back to Dad. My brother would have just hunted me down and dragged me home. Well, this ruined my plan for the day completely, so instead of exploring the edges of the grounds, I'll stop at the lake and go for a swim. That will give Ryan something to report.
I don't think Ryan has ever explored this far outside the community. He usually stays pretty close when he isn't going on scouting missions. My dad and William keep the trainees pretty close to town for their lessons, until they go through the door for the first time. They usually try to find scouts who are adventurous, but cautious. I would think that they would explore the land we live in. But no one seems to care what exists outside the community. Except me.
From where I'm sitting I can see Ryan behind one of the trees to my right. I'm debating whether to say something or not. It would be fun to show him that he isn't as stealthy as he thinks!
"Have you ever tired the fruit off these trees?" He walked out from behind the tree holding a green fruit.
"No, why are you following me?"
"You really should try it. It is perfect when it is ripe. The seeds are a perfect complement to the fruit and the secret ingredient in your mothers holiday pheasant." He rambled on about the fruit as he turned it over and over in his hands.
"Did my father send you? He usually sends my brothers when he is tracking me."
"He didn't." Ryan answered discreetly.
"Then why are you following me?!" I wanted an answer and he was nowhere near revealing his true intentions.
"I wanted to see where you were going for myself."
"Why?"
"It isn't important for you to know that."
"Of course it is! You are stalking me."
"You don't need to know...I'm...keeping you safe."
"Safe from what? I've been out her a thousand times."
"I know. I've been out here with you."
"What? Why?"
"You can't know what is out here. Just come back home."
"What is out here?"
He stayed silent.
"I'm not going with you!"
"Okay." He turned and started to walk away. "But don't tell your parents you know about the fruit."
He left.
***
When I got home Ryan joined us for dinner. He made no indication of our interaction earlier, but he probably told my father everything.
1. a. Often, x-rays. a form of electromagnetic radiation, similar to light but of shorter wavelength and capable of penetrating solids and of ionizing gases.
b. Such radiation having wavelengths in the range of approximately 0.1–10 nm.
2. A radiograph made by x-rays.
Story
Every now and then you can just see right through people. Some people are open books. While others are blessed with heightened intuition. You can read every sigh, every glance and every moment of silence. People evolve from a foundation. Mannerisms and behaviors are built on a structure of experiences and choices a person makes throughout their life.
I don't have these. I'm not quite sure how I know this, but I do. Something is different about me. Okay, that may be an over statement. I think I'm the same as the people that I live with, but not like the different people I see every day. They have a...umm...something more. They have a deeper...existence? I'm not sure what it is, but we live on the surface here. I mean physically I think we are underground. We only know what is shown and told to us. They tell us we don't need to know any more than that. Every day I meet and interact with people who are more than that. They know more than this.
I'm not sure when I started writing about it. Every day I go back and read from the day before. I wish I had some way to record how long I have been writing. Today I met with a man who had a critical illness...I think...it had something to do with planned death. We went to San Francisco, to a secure unit off the coast, it looked like my own home...just abandoned. Sam, the man I was with, kept talking about how he wished he could have lived back then. That things would have been different and he wouldn't have had to do what he did. But then he kept talking about an injection; we only get injections when we are sick...I'm not sure what he was talking about. He didn't look sick.
Once we were done with that tour we went back to the city and had a beautiful dinner. He took me back to a hotel, but I don't...that part is lost. It may have been there, but oh well. They tell us every day that what we don't know won't hurt us. It seems like an odd statement because I think it does. I'm not supposed to remember these things. I've asked the others about their days and they just stare at me blankly and continue to eat their pudding.
They train us to understand what these people want. That doesn't sound quite right, but close. It is something like that...programmed maybe. These people we visit are transparent. I understand their intentions and wants, but I never understand why. These people have histories, families and homes. At least ones that mean more to them than mine do. Sam kept mentioning Christine and Kimberly. He talked about them in the past tense; like he hadn't seen them in a long time. Christine had moved on...from what he said. He loved her or at least how I'm supposed to understand it. Why didn't he spend this day with them?
I don't think I will ever see him again. I liked him, he was nice.
It will be whole new adventure tomorrow. Hopefully I will remember more of tomorrow than I did of today. Maybe if I can remember more after my nap, I could piece together my own history and family.
Young boys dreamed of stars. Halden was no exception. He looked at the sparkles in the sky everyday and knew that something was alive beyond what he could see. He just knew it. It never made sense to him that the people on this planet are the only ones in existence. That of all the stars and all the planets that he learned about in school that only one had the right combination of elements to create intelligent life.
Halden asked his mother one day what she knew about the stars and the worlds that had to exist.
"Well Halden we used to travel beyond the stars. Hundreds of years ago we used to send citizens in ships into space. They investigated some of the closest planets to us they even tried to settle there. We even found evidence of life on one, but it was long gone. There are rumors of a planet that still possessed life, but we never got there. Many people went on the journey to it. None ever came back. The researchers never could perfect their ships so they could go far enough without people dying of old age. No one wanted to send children young enough to survive. Our people decided to spend their resources on bettering our own planet instead of seeking one to escape to. There have been rumors that the new resources to harvest the power of the stars and energy could be used to get someone far enough, but because of the wars there is no money."
"But why? Has anyone tried to go without the support of the people's resources? Can I go?"
"Of course son. You can do whatever you set your heart to. But for now it's bed time."
That was what did it. Every parent says it, but Halden never grew out of his dream to find life elsewhere in the universe. He had a pet guinea pig that he talked to everyday about how he and Simon would put on their little space suits and build their own ship to find new life beyond what they could see in the night's sky.
Simon, and Halden's family, didn't live to see him fulfill his dream. He was the only one who escaped. He was the only one who believed that his world wasn't peaceful. He was the one who continued the research that his people did not have the resources for. He was the only one who got out alive.
Halden was still young when his planet crumbled beneath him. But he believed in the stars, so he took to them to save himself. He flew and flew. He was 60 years older when he landed on a strange planet that he was destined to find. Halden knew when he was greeted by the residents of this planet and knew that the planet that his mother said his people never traveled to was a lie. He recognized these people as ones of his own kind. He knew then that this planet came long before the one he flew 60 years to escape. His people were still alive. He lived for 10 years on this planet. Meeting the people and sharing the story of his home planet and the destruction of his people. The story of how he traveled so far to find a planet that was supposed to only be a myth.
a person who has attended or has graduated from a particular school, college, or university
a person who is a former member, employee, contributor, or inmate
Story
So for the word this week, I pose a question:
What would you say to students of your alma mater?
I was asked to do this about a month ago. I had a plan. I went in to that room of, somewhat impressionable, students. They were honors students. They were seeking an education that they could use to make our world a better place. Whether being educated in history, biology or environmental studies, they wanted to change the world. That is what a liberal arts education can be good for.
Since these were honors students I went in with a way to get them to think about their honors thesis that they would have to write to complete their Minor in Rhetoric. The prompt was as follows:
What do you love?
What do you want to learn more about?
What is your primary field of study?
My answers to these questions are how I formed my thesis when I completed a similar program. Movies, The Holocaust and English…were my answers. Well that turned in to The Messenger's Messengers: The Study of the Portrayal of Nazi Soldiers in Turn of the Twenty First Century Popular Movies. This paper was quite an undertaking and turned into a pretty cool analysis. I wanted to use my experience as a way to get them to understand what the whole program was about to me: Learning how to communicate and learn more effectively.
I was asked by the professor/advisor, sitting in on this little get together, what I got from the program. This led me off on a tangent…
College is about learning how to live in the real world. Your professors are your managers and supervisors. They hold you accountable to tasks and reward or penalize you accordingly. They help you when you ask for it and are happy to see that what they teach impacts their students. But if you don't love it and don't want to be there, they can see that and wonder why?
What I learned from this program and going to college? They asked.
I learned that:
If you don't love what you do. Don't do it. If you have to do it to survive, find a way to learn from it and incorporate something that you love.
A career is very different from a job. You should work jobs to learn what your career should be.
You should always try to learn from your experiences.
Life doesn't fall into your lap once you have a college degree…you still have to be driven to live your life to the fullest!
Most importantly…finishing college is one of the most important things you will ever accomplish in your professional life. It shows that you can start something and finish it. A valuable skill in any working environment.
Unwilling to grant concessions or negotiate; inflexible
I can't decide if this is my life or not. Or at least what it is supposed to be.
I live in a small village. There are 301 residents in our small community. I know some of them, but my mom and dad know everybody. As I get older they will let me meet more people. We have to be 16 years old before our parents let us meet people who are older than us. They say it is for our safety. I don't believe it, unlike my friend Minnie who is on the side of the adults.
We live in a place where we don't work outside the lines and we follow the rules. Everyone understands that the rules are there for a reason, even if they aren't explained to us. There is a border around the town. From the stories that our parents tell us the original settlers got here by crossing over that line, but they could never cross back. They were stuck. The story goes that they found a door and through the door there was food. The town was built around the door and it has been that way ever since.
I live with my parents, 2 older twin brothers and younger sister. My brothers are training to be scouts. My sister is learning from our mother how to cook the food that the boys bring home. My mother is a nurse in the infirmary. My father is the leader of the scouts. He no longer goes out on missions, but he trains the younger boys with his teammate, William. I hope when I am 18 I can start training. Not many girls have gone on to do it successfully. Only once has a woman not disappeared on their first mission; Jean, she is a legend among us young girls who want to train. As far as the records go back we have only lost 5 men on their first mission. It is a job that requires strength and bravery. It isn't a safe job, the teams usually spend a week in the in the infirmary after each trip. There are 28 scouts. A few of them only last their first year, so they train 4-6 new ones every year. It is expected that my brothers will be the best of the best. I want to be the best of the best. I want to know what is beyond that door.
Everyone speculates what happens through it. The scouts are forbidden to talk about it. Only they know what happen through the door and they are not shy about sharing the horrifying legends of those who have barely come back. It is a rule that no one breaks except the stories of scouts past. We believe in the system. We would starve if we didn't. We are taught to have faith in what lies beyond the door and not question it.
Destroy (data) or the data in (a file) by
entering new data in its place.
It was midnight and Jack knew that his story was ready. He
had worked on it for five years to get to this point. It was his “great
American novel,” he knew he was ready. His work was ready. His publisher had
criticized and rejected all of his other attempts, but even he knew, deep down,
that they weren't good enough. I mean who was he kidding those were feeble
attempts at middle of the road paperbacks. First there was a man who goes to
the grocery store one day and discovers an underground cannibalism ring; it was
the butcher, duh. Second was a woman whose sister was murdered and she gets too
close to the murder and gets killed; it was their little sister. Third, he
tried something outside the box and had a crazy boat man be responsible for
mysterious drowning victims in Scotland; it turned out to be the Loch Ness
monster. His publisher didn't like any of them. No matter how many times he
wrote them over, he knew they weren't worth his time. He had even given up on
writing entirely. Until now.
Jack had a plan. This was going to be more than a novel. It
was going to be an experience for the reader. He even made plans to have a mix CD to accompany the book with tracks that matched t mood while offering a
slight tone to each chapter that only a delicate orchestra could offer. His
publisher was asking for unique ideas and this was his!
He went into her office the next morning to submit his new
novel. It had already gotten past her assistant who was tasked with reading
everything she didn't feel was worth her time. But this one had gotten
Patrick’s seal of approval so she had to at least consider it. As he waited for
Patrick to take him in he became more and more confident by the minute.
She welcomed him in with words of false reassurance and a
tinge of impatience. He sat in the armless chair opposite her inlaid desk and Versailles
domed She looked so small in it, he never realized how petite she was. A
Napoleon complex was his gut excuse for her extravagance and intolerance.
She briefly discussed with him Patrick’s review of the first
few chapters.
“He seems more optimistic than usual about the projects that
I send him to read. That’s something, but I need to read the whole thing if we
are going to give it any kind of consideration. You know as well as anyone else
that we have cut our spending on ‘independent’ and ‘requested’ projects. I
can’t promise you anything at this point.”
“I understand. But I think-”
“You know that I’m not a fan of your work. The ideas you had
in the beginning were good, but you could never put them on paper as well as I
would have anticipated.”
“Yes, this is not the first time you have spoken your mind
about my work.”
He can’t get past the annoyed scowl on her face.
“Well hand it over then I have many more projects to focus
on this week.”
“You can only have the first two chapters; once you finish
with those I will send you the link to the rest.”
“That isn’t protocol Jack.”
“I know, but I’ve been working on this one for years.”
“I need the whole thing now.”
“I can’t do that. This is what you get. I am more than
confident that you will want me to send you the rest.”
He now gets to revel in making her uncomfortable, an unusual
feeling for her.
“Okay I guess that will have to do. But as soon as I call
for the other chapters you must send them right away. I don’t have time to wait
around for you to decide if she discovers the murderer at the history museum or
the art museum.”
“There is no ‘Shirley’ in this one. I would appreciate you
not bringing her up again. This is different.”
“Fine. I will call you when I finish this first part.”
“Perfect. I look forward to it.”
Jack wasn’t quite sure now what he had gotten himself into,
but there was no turning back now. He returned home to await her call.
***
Rebecca finally reached the end of the second chapter. She
knew that she needed the rest. Jack had written a story of a lonely writer
crippled by his failed attempts at a “great American novel”. Jack was writing
his own story. The last page of what was on the pages he had given her today
was an exact account of what happened in her office today, word for word.
Rebecca was confused and worried. The Jack in this novel was
seeking revenge.
There were similarities between the woman he wrote and the
one reading about her. She didn’t remember growing to be so cruel. She was
kinder once.
She knew what could happen next and she had to stop it.
She called him. “Jack, I need the other pages.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“I think so.”
“The story can go two ways, which do you choose?”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Okay. Are you ready for that? It won’t be easy.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
***
Rebecca was never the same. Jack was kind, he loved her.
They got their happy ending.
I've
recently been asked one of the most stressful questions that I've been asked in
a while…again. What satisfies you as a person? What is your passion in life?
Now the first time I was really asked this question it was: What fills your cup
at the end of the day?
It
has been explained to me that this is not supposed to be a stressful question
or thing to figure out. Both Michael and my health coach, I’m sure, were not
expecting me to burst into tears when asked these questions. But I thought I
was happy before. I thought that things were going well and my day-to-day was
working for me, apparently not. In both situations it became this moment in
life when I had to face the fact that maybe I’m not actually happy just getting
up and going to work every day, in spite of the fact that my jobs make me
happy. I have two jobs where I help people and I feel good about what I do at
the end of every day and they provide a bit of freedom to let me do other
things with my life.
So
how am I supposed to figure out what my passion in life is? Am I just going
through the motions? Once again, I was told that this isn’t supposed to be
stressful, it is supposed to fun to go and explore new things. I’ve never been
an explorer or really someone to try new things. I’m not sure how this is
supposed to work.
Yes,
I do currently feel like I’m in a rut and I want to change something, like I’m
waiting, but there are important decisions coming up and I’m excited about how
those are going to change my life. Michael brought up a good point, while we
were having this unintentionally intense conversation, that our vacation was
something that filled my cup, moments in life were we could explore and find
new things that made us feel great at the end of the day. Now I have been
tasked with figuring out what that does for me every day and it feels like
every day that I leave with this passion undiscovered I’m going to feel less
satisfied and glass half empty.
Now
I pose the question, how did you find your passion in life? How do you fill
your cup at the end of every day?
